“Because there is no one else, and he knows that.
So he does what needs to be done, or at least tries to. Though he hates
it, though he wants no part of any of it, that is what he must do,
because that is the way he is. That is the only way he knows, the only
path he can see...”Ground Zero, p. 337.

Whenever the notion of furtive
conspiracies arises to explain some heinous, unthinkable act — whether
the Kennedy assassination, Pearl Harbor, or 9/11 — the existence of
shadowy cabals secretly directing the course of society is usually
dismissed with a disdainful sniff by those who prefer Occam’s Razor to
paranoiac fantasies. Why complicate matters? such commentators
ask. When spectacular disasters occur — especially ones that intersect
with the political realm — it makes far more sense to explain them by
appealing to the unwitting consequences generated by ignorance,
stupidity, or insanity than by complex webs of cause-and-effect
manipulated by hidden puppet masters.

It is certainly true that many manmade
calamities are attributable to normal human failings and shortcomings.
Yet a possibility that is rarely raised when misfortune strikes is that
some people are — to put it bluntly and simply — evil. To be “evil,”
however, is not merely to adhere to some Biblical prescription of human
nature. The notion of “Original Sin” is literally nonsensical in the
context of any valid moral system. Only actions (and the reasonably
foreseeable consequences of such actions) that an individual chooses
to commit can legitimately be laid at his or her feet. To be “sinful”
(or “evil”) for no reason other than a person’s existence is as
wrongheaded as holding an individual ethically culpable because of his
skin color. Without the conceptual capacity and the opportunity to
select among alternatives (i.e., the trait of “free will” or
volition), morality is impossible. And no ethical judgments can or
should be made unless and until a person acts on a choice he has made. (Pace Jimmy Carter, thinking about adultery is not the moral equivalent of committing adultery.)

Viewed from another angle, “evil” — or
better, perhaps, “Evil” — as such does not exist. There is no Platonic
Ideal that magically filters into human minds and corrupts them. A
better way of understanding human “evil” is to realize that the “human”
part is, in reality, the operative word. “Evil” or the immoral or the
unethical is, in essence, that which is destructive to human
values and the context needed to achieve those life-affirming
conditions. The “good” or moral or ethical is, then, what is constructive or facilitative of the lives of individual
humans (since only individuals exist; “society” [which does not exist
in any literal fashion] is merely a shorthand way to describe the
complex relationships among individual people]).

In the universe of F. Paul Wilson’s
Repairman Jack, however, such distinctions break down. In this
fictional reality, the Otherness that seeks to transform earth and
human civilization into a living hell is the embodiment of evil. In the
person of Rasalom — a.k.a., the Adversary, the One —the Otherness
thrives on “...the terror, the panic, the chaos, the pain, the death,
the grief and misery of loss” (p. 375). It is destruction personified:
anti-life, anti-happiness, anti-value, inimical to what makes life both
conceivable and worth experiencing.

While our universe is indifferent — neutral; it merely “is”
— to humanity’s choices and actions, Repairman Jack realizes that he is
not some cliché paranoiac: a significant part of his world
really is out to get him:

“Evil...Jack used to think good and
evil were manmade, that the universe was indifferent[,] and good or
evil solely the products of human action. No more. As far as he could
see, humans were still the only source of good. But evil...evil could
be human and beyond human.” (p. 324)

What could be more disheartening,
depressing, discouraging than to face an implacable force that makes a
mockery of the very characteristic — our moral nature — that marks us
as distinctly human? The cruel randomness of Nazi concentration guards
pales in comparison to the unreality that is the Otherness. Its
manipulations undermine human choice, human nature, human existence.
For it (or should that be “It”?), the painful, the catastrophic, the
tragic are not the exception but rather the to-be-desired.

Experiencing hopelessness in the face of
a “reality” that precludes the efficacy of human choice, that abrogates
normal cause-and-effect, that rejoices in failure, loss, and holocaust
would be a reasonable response. But abandoning hope is not in Repairman
Jack’s nature.

Even though the cosmic battle waged
between the Otherness and the Ally for millennia ensnarled Jack from
his birth and has visited untold agony upon him and those closest to
him, Jack is incapable of curling into a ball and whimpering about a
fate he neither requested nor craved. Whenever a problem occurs that
involves himself or those he loves or those he has agreed to help,
Jack’s first reaction is to deal with it. Unlike far too many
of those surrounding him, he recognizes that thought without action is
impotent and action without thought is pointless.

When Weezy Myers (née Connell, a childhood friend first encountered in Jack: Secret Histories)
finds herself in imminent danger (see p. 127 ff), Jack does not dither.
He instantly assesses the facts available to him, makes his choices,
and acts, all in the time most folks would still be trying to decide if there actually was something amiss.

In a universe whose facade of normality
is dangerously close to shredding from the Otherness’s unnatural
assaults, Jack is just as relentlessly realistic, that is,
committed to observing, identifying, and acting in accordance with that
reality he desperately seeks to save and sustain. Despite the
fantastical enemies and powers that threaten to destroy him, Jack is
determined to see things as they are, that is, to be rational
even while the irrational that is the Otherness oozes implacably toward
him. As Jack says, “It’s not pleasant, but it’s the way it is.” (p. 134)

As with many of the Repairman Jack novels, the title Ground Zero
carries multiple levels of meaning. On the surface, of course, Ground
Zero refers to the site of the destroyed World Trade Center. Indeed,
what “really” happened there so many years ago forms the crux of the
mystery Jack and his allies must unravel before a new threat manages to
tip the scales once and for all into the camp of the Otherness.

More generally, “ground zero” refers to a “starting point or base for some activity.” (Oxford American Dictionary,
2nd Edition.) The yet-to-be-completed Opus Omega — the network of
human-sacrifice pillars established by the Septimus Order and the
Dormentalists and buried at nexuses of Otherness influence (see my
review of Crisscross,here) — is intended to be “ground zero” for the full passage of the Otherness into the realm of humanity.

Within that “ground zero” is yet
another starting point: the “Null Site” where the Opus Omega must
originate...a site that intersects with another “ground zero” that is
eventually revealed in the story to devastating effect. The “Orsa
pillar” that is located at these “ground zeroes” is, not surprisingly,
itself a potential “ground zero,” part of an Otherness contingency plan
designed to assault our reality on a number of fronts. The peril that
is set to emerge from the Orsa will establish another “ground zero”
aimed at a figurative and fundamental pillar of humanity’s defense.

To borrow from another Wilson title, “wheels within wheels.”

Indeed, Ground Zero resonates with other titles in this series. Not only is Ground Zero, well, grounded in uncovering and nullifying Conspiracies, it is replete with examples of Gateways that Crisscross the world, the pages of the mystical Compendium of Srem, and the very flesh of the Lady who has shadowed Repairman Jack his entire life.

And, of course, Jack himself is a
“ground zero,” a base for the rescue of our rational universe; an
intersection between “good violence and bad” (see my Crisscrossreview),
between control and chaos, between freedom and tyranny, between
self-ownership and slavery, between genetic determinism and choice (see
my review of Bloodline, here), between victimhood and personal responsibility, between death and life.

In Ground Zero, we again encounter the Kickers (see Bloodline)as
they expand their unwitting alliance with Rasalom and factor into a
crucial component of the One’s machinations. Dawn Pickering (see my
review of By the Sword,here)
makes a passing appearance, leaving us yet again to wonder what (if
any) role her unborn child will play in the coming epic struggle. Many
of the characters Jack met in Secret Histories also emerge in Ground Zero as major figures in the war to come.

After the somewhat disappointing By the Sword, Ground Zero
stands as one of the strongest tales in the Repairman Jack series. Here
the story focuses squarely (and properly) on Jack and what he does
best: solving problems. Jack is a prime mover, his humor and courage
and insights an inspiration to his friends and a vexation to his
enemies. The plot roars along in overdrive, daring the reader to hang
on for dear life as Jack plunges into the midst of dangers even he does
not fully comprehend or understand.

Ground Zero reveals and explains
even more layers of the Otherness and its plans. With only two more
Repairman Jack novels remaining before the “heavily revised” (p. 380) Nightworld is published, we can expect that satisfying trend to continue. In Ground Zero,
Wilson has the throttle wide open as he hurtles Jack towards his final
objective. And as wonderful as an ultimate destination can be, it’s
good to remember that enjoying the journey itself can be even more
important. In Ground Zero, Wilson hits the bullseye dead-on.

A small note:

Readers should be aware that there is a
potentially confusing point-of-view issue at the beginning of the book in moving from the section
labeled “Monday, 1” to “Monday, 2.”

The first section focuses on Diana, an Oculus. (See my review of Harbingers, here).
The second section continues with “she” but with no specific change in
referent for the pronoun. This is, however, a different woman than
Diana. In reading it, though, I simply assumed it was Diana later in
the same day. After all, section 1 has Diana thinking that “she chatted
online all the time,” and that, “She had to find Jack,” and that “she
had to go to New York.” Section 2 begins with the unnamed “she” typing
on a computer in a cyber cafe.

Even if Wilson does not want to reveal
the identity of the second woman right away, more differentiation
between the two characters would help. While a closer reading of the
two sections might have alerted me to the change, I did not realize my
error until later in the book.